


When We Were Young

by StarksInTheNorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Child's Play - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarksInTheNorth/pseuds/StarksInTheNorth
Summary: “That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her.Jon III, ACOKJon used to play with Sansa when they were children. The last time they play, she gives him some advise about wooing a lady and sets Jon to wondering if he'll ever even need it.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	When We Were Young

_“That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her._  
**Jon III, ACOK**

* * *

The children's game of knights and princesses ends as it normally does, when the boys are called away from the godswood to go back to their training in the yard. But today, only Robb is sent for. Their lord father has some lesson of ruling to be taught that bastards need not know. Robb follows out the servingman, with a strong command to his brother, "you must protect the girls at all costs, and make sure the dragon doesn't eat them!"

Jon nods resolutely as he remains behind with little giggling Arya and lovely Sansa, standing in godswood as a summer breeze dances round their feet and caresses the grasses to tickle their barefoot toes. For a moment, Jon stabs at the branch that represents the dragon, calling out sayings that sound brave and strong and what a knight would say, until the branch falls over and the dragon is dead.

He glances at his sisters, finally, to see what they are doing now. The girls have always been better with Robb, with his easy smile and kind eyes, the brother that their mother approves of. Sansa’s eyes are wide, obviously unsure if she should be here with her bastard half-brother. Only recently did she realize what that meant, and now Sansa avoids him for most of their play and insists on dragging Arya away most of the time when she feels her mother watching.

“San-sa!” Arya toddles behind her sister, gleefully waving her hands in the air. Her crown of yellow and blue flowers, painstakingly woven by her sister, hangs askew on her head and there are dirt stains on her skirt where her knees would be, from crawling in the mud and pretending to be their hunting dog in an earlier game. 

Sansa pivots on her toes to face her sister, glad for the distraction of the awkward tension between her and her older half-brother. “Arya, you’ve made a mess again!”

She hurries to Arya and begins to fiddle with the crown in her dark curls. A matching one stands out brightly against Sansa’s auburn waves. The girls played the part of the princesses waiting to be saved, while the boys fought the dragon for the honor of their favor and a dance. Sansa’s hero was, of course, Robb, with Jon relegated to the younger of the girls.

Not that he minded. He was just about as good as Arya at dancing, and she at least was a partner happy to have him.

“You needn’t chide her so.” Jon ventures. “She’s only two. Of course her crown's messed up.”

“But how will she get her knight, looking like this?” Sansa’s brow knits together in genuine worry for her sister. She looks at Jon, the same worry playing on her face as she tilts her head and inspects him. Arya’s mess is quickly forgotten. “And how will you get your lady?”

“My lady?”

“Your lady wife.” Sansa gnaws on her lip. “Do half-brothers get to marry?”

Her question startles him. Sansa, ever the lady, avoids saying to his face what he is: a bastard. But it does not stop her inquiry, even so. Jon hasn't ever really though of marriage, except to sullenly realize that his father didn't marry his own mother. He thinks he'd like to marry, someday, but he would like to go on adventures more.

“They can.” Jon’s words come out, biting and defensive. He does not mean them, but he can see the hurt in Sansa’s eyes. 

“You won’t get a lady speaking like that.” Sansa set her hands against her hips. “You need a calmer voice, Jon.”

“Yes, Sansa.” It’s hard to keep from rolling his eyes. Jon wants to keep playing swords, not get taught manners by his little sister.

But she is still thinking, pondering what else she can say to help his situation. “Ladies like flowers. Remember that, when you go courting.”

“Not all ladies.” He chuckles, pointing to Arya. She holds a yellow daffodil, yanked from her crown, quietly munching on a few petals. 

“That could be dangerous, Arya!” Sansa pulls them from her mouth. Her gaze quickly turns back to Jon. “And mind you, Arya isn’t a lady yet. Not truly. She has to learn her courtesies first, and sewing and singing. She’s still a baby and babies can’t do that.”

“I’d say Bran is the only baby now.”

The only way to describe the noise she makes is a ladylike growl. “Jon! Be serious, this is important. When a lady tells you her name, always tell her it’s pretty, even if it isn’t.”

“Why would I do that?” He scowls. These rules are too much for him.

“Because it’s a kind courtesy, and she’ll appreciate kind words, if she’s a lady.” Sansa sighs, as if this is all basic information he should understand. "And always ask a lady you like to dance at a feast. She'll like to know you think of her. And if you become a true knight, ask her for her favor, to hold against your breast and remember what you're fighting for."

"And what would I be fighting for, then?"

"Her love, of course."

He cannot help but laugh and Sansa glares at him. She puts her hands on her hips, patiently staring at him. They stand there in silence for a minute, Jon leaning on his wooden practice sword and Sansa deep in thought with her hands on her hips. Jon has to admit, her advice is good. But he is young and reckless, with more thoughts of knights and dragons than of pretty ladies and wives. So when Arya swings Robb’s sword at Sansa, he cannot help but laugh.

“Arya!” Her shriek pierces the air, and she glares at Jon and his deep chuckles. “This is all your fault! We’re going back to Septa Mordane!”

“Sansa-”

“I’m not helping you again, Jon Snow!” Her cheeks are red with her anger. Sansa rips the sword from Arya’s hands and marches them back towards the keep.

It is the last time he will ever play knights and princesses with Sansa, and while he does not miss her then, Jon will miss these memories of her later.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and come fangirl about GOT, ASOIAF, and Jonsa with me on [tumblr](http://www.starksinthenorth.tumblr.com/).


End file.
